Promises, Promises
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: GSR. Those that are most slow in making a promise are the most faithful in the performance of it. Jean Jacques Rousseau


Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Very big thanks to Leslie for prompting me to write this little ficlet, and thanks to everyone who's stopped by to read it!

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Promises, Promises

by Kristen Elizabeth

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_Those that are most slow in making a promise are the most faithful in the performance of it. - Jean Jacques Rousseau_

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"Cause of death was cardiac dysrhythmia due to toluene poisoning."

Nick and Sara exchanged a glance. "Spray paint?" Sara guessed.

"Huffing," Nick sighed. "Haven't seen one of those for a year or two."

Looking down at the body of an otherwise healthy fifteen year-old boy, she shook her head. "I hope it's not coming back in style."

Dave nodded in agreement. "Your suspicious death was just a dumb kid looking for a quick high. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Nick said. "You just cleared our schedule for the rest of the day. Just send us a copy of the tox report whenever you get a chance, so we can file it."

"Will do." As Dave made a few marks on his case notes, there was a flash of gold that immediately caught Nick's eye.

"Hey, hold up!" Nick gestured at Sara, who was already halfway out the morgue door. "Check out Super Dave's left hand."

She walked back, looked, and raised an eyebrow. "Tell me you didn't elope over the weekend," she demanded of the junior coroner.

Blushing, he tucked his hand into his pocket, hiding the ring that now adorned his third finger. "It's not a wedding ring."

"Then what is it?" Nick pressed.

"It's sort of…a promise ring."

The two CSI's traded another look. "But you're already engaged," Sara said. "Isn't that a promise in and of itself?"

Dave cleared his throat. "Apparently she thinks I'm not serious about getting married. This is supposed to be extra insurance. Or something."

"Well, can you blame her, man?" Nick spread his hands defensively when he got a very sharp look from Sara. "What?" He looked at Dave. "It just seems like you've been engaged since time began. Have you even set a date?"

Because her look didn't work, Sara elbowed her partner. "There is nothing wrong with a long engagement," she declared. "Too many people rush into binding contracts without taking the time to really consider the ramifications and realities of commitment."

"Isn't she just a hopeless romantic?" Nick jabbed her with his own elbow, earning him another, even more deadly look. "I'm just saying you better hurry up, Dave. Or Grissom will end up getting married before you."

Both men frowned as Sara began coughing. "Tickle," she explained. "Back of my throat." A moment passed. "So, the tox report…yeah, we're going to need a copy of it for the file. Could you send it to us later?"

It was Nick and Dave's turn to swap looks. "Sure thing, Sara," Dave replied slowly.

She waited another second before turning on her heel and walking away as fast as she could.

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"Do you realize that there's stuff in this pile from two weeks ago?"

Grissom lowered his journal just enough to see to the end of the bed, where Sara was sitting cross-legged in her robe, sorting through a large, accumulated stack of his mail. "I was saving it for a rainy day."

"At least you pulled your bills out." She held up a catalog. "Why do you get Kitchen Universe?"

He adjusted his glasses. "I prefer to keep some mystery between us."

Smirking, she set it on top of the Victoria's Secret catalog that she'd had sent to his address, hoping it might spark some ideas for future gift-giving occasions.

Several minutes passed in comfortable silence as she separated magazines from junk mail and he read.

"Oh hey!" Sara eventually exclaimed, pulling out an item from the pile. "Did this come today?" She checked. "Yes! Something to look forward to in my own mail! May I open it?"

"What is it?" he asked without looking up.

Sara ripped into the envelope, slid out a gold embossed card and read it over with a big smile. "The honor of your presence is requested at the marriage of David Phillips and his very patient bride-to-be," she announced. "And they want to know if you want chicken, beef or vegetarian."

From behind his journal, Grissom's only reply was a vaguely interested, "Hmm."

"I'm really happy for him." She set the invitation in its own special place on the bedspread. "Even if it did take the threat of you conceivably ending your bachelorhood before him to get him to nail down a date."

This got his attention. "Excuse me?"

"Don't worry. No one thinks you're planning on getting married anytime soon. That was kind of the point of the threat." She returned to her task, holding up a copy of National Geographic. "I want to borrow this when you're done with it."

"Hold on a second." Grissom set aside his reading and removed his glasses. "What's this about?"

Sara blinked. "Um…I like National Geographic, but I can't stretch my budget enough to get my own subscription?"

"Are you upset?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind a raise, but cost-of-living adjustments are coming soon, and…"

He cut her off. "Sara…"

She interrupted his interruption. "No. I'm not upset. Because I like what we have right here. And I'm not looking to make any changes." Sara lifted one shoulder. "Of course…it wouldn't be a horrible thing to be able to go to the wedding with you. As your date. Not your co-worker who happens to be seated at the same table."

"I know, honey."

"Do you think maybe we'll be able to sneak in one dance?"

"I'm not a very good dancer," he admitted.

Sara gave him a mischievous smile. "Then you won't have to pretend to be uncomfortable during it."

Grissom couldn't chase away his own smile. "Come here."

Abandoning the mail, she crawled up the bed and lay down next to him. Grissom pulled her in closer with one arm; she rested her cheek against his chest.

"So," she asked after a minute. "Chicken or beef?"

"I'll take the vegetarian," he replied, kissing the top of her head before donning his glasses and shaking open his journal with his free hand. "If she'll take the chicken."

"She'll take him," she murmured. "For as long as she can have him. That's a promise."

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Fin


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